


Wojciech the Halls

by brucebannerisms



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Christmas Party, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brucebannerisms/pseuds/brucebannerisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story from a universe I created inspired by the match on November 22nd versus Manchester United when Kieran and Wojciech collided. I really liked the Jack/Kieran ship and envisioned them finding a balance in domestic bliss. Since it's the holidays I decided to write a Christmas special. It was going to be one chapter but then I got carried away. </p><p>Kieran is helping Jack (read: has convinced Jack to) host an Arsenal Christmas party at his house.</p><p>12 days of Christmas, all chapters occur on the same evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me:
> 
> Jack/Kieran fluffy domesticity.

No one person should be allowed to play football at an international level, look absolutely appetizing while decorating a house for Christmas decked out in festive apron and santa hat, and suck cock with the tenacity that Kieran Gibbs can.

Jack is considering all of these things all at once as he watches the one and only lean over the banister as he wraps a garland around and around the stairwell leading to Jack's second floor. From where he's standing all he can see is deft hands working the greenery around with precision and an ass that is more than a handful and, from experience, feels fucking amazing in a million different positions. Any one of which Jack would be thrilled to find himself in.

The whole house feels warm and festive. Mostly red sprinkled with green here and there has been sneaking it's way around Jack's home until it became blatantly obvious one morning that Christmas was upon them. A fire is roaring in the den and the white and gold fairy lit tree in the foyer is throwing shards of warm light across the rich dark wood of the thick paneled floor. Tonight the house smells of gingerbread and his boyfriend is as festive as the rest of it, practically dancing around the place, sweeping and dusting and adding even more red and green.

When Kieran notices Jack noticing him, he gives him a slightly confused half smile and straightens up. He rearranges the hat and lifts the remains of the garland into the air in offering.

"You know, you could help me." 

"Why would I help you when I can watch you?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because we are entertaining friends for the evening and now is not the time, Jack, now is not the time to--I already showered I don't want to have to clean up all over again!" Kieran is protesting quite feebly as Jack advances on him and chucks the rest of the garland over the railing to dangle a mere few feet off the floor below. Kieran's breath catches as Jack takes him by the waist and dips him so he is half hanging over the side. He must find reassurance in Jack's strong arms around him though because after the initial shock he throws back his head and arches his back, laughing as Jack clambers to maintain a safe grip. He sees the flicker of fear he had been aiming for light Jack's eyes for just a moment and he wraps his arms around Jack's neck and let's his ass rest comfortably on the wooden banister as he leans his head towards Jack's. The bauble on the end of the hat swings to hang, bouncing between their foreheads only inches apart, causing Jack to chuckle, eyes crossing to look up at it.

"I'll help after, I swear." Jack promises, running his hands up and down Kieran's sides, somewhere between ticklish and excitement, playfulness and something far more satisfying. Kieran considers the idea, would it really take that long to shower? How much more did he have to do?

"Or you can help now." Kieran says, ducking as Jack leans in for a kiss. As he swings out from under Jack's arm, Jack catches him by the tie of his apron and Kieran let's himself be caught before Jack can yank him, likely ripping the string right off. "Stop, you'll break it!" He snaps, a little annoyed now. Jack releases his grip and his smile falters momentarily. Kieran feels a little self-conscious now, feels the dip in Jack's mood that can sometimes become precarious. The hard, malicious glint just beneath a confident veneer. The jagged edges, like underneath easy smiles and the charming favourite son exterior lies broken glass. Like at one point this boy was broken and the pieces don't fit back together again in quite the right way. He unties the apron and lifts it over his head. "I look ridiculous anyway."

"You look utterly ludicrous, Kier." Jack agrees. "I'm serious. It's preposterous that someone can look so damn sexy in the most ridiculous things." Kieran's cheeks burn at this blunt statement of desire from someone so often completely closed off from him. He feels a lick of pleasure curl through his navel, a desire he is too aware is deeper than the lust causing a slight flush in Jack's face. "Though I'd prefer you in nothing but the apron."

Kieran puts both hands over Jack's on his waist, plucking at fingers to untangle himself. He looks seriously into Jack's eyes, crinkled in a sly smile. He tries to will Jack to take him seriously. "You know how important this is to me. Lauren needs to see that nothing has changed, and it will be the first time that Woj--"

"Oh, sod Woj!" Jack exclaims forcefully, his voice injected with anger and the smile fading from his eyes at the sound of the name.

"Jack..."

"I'm serious Kieran, I know you think you know him, but you don't. Not the way I do. He will get over this, and any attempts to skirt around him will only massage his ego or infuriate him. Or both. You need to trust me about this. I don't know why you care so much in the first place."

Kieran knew exactly why he cared so much. What if he didn't want him to _get over this_ , whatever this is. What if he wanted something entirely different.

He turned away from Jack to hide his thoughts, which sometimes are all too clear in his face. Especially to Jack who after years of friendship and months of so much more, can read Kieran all too well.

"I'm asking you nicely, it's your house, can you please just help?" Kieran pleads.

"And then?" Jack starts hoisting the garland back over the banister. Quickly and sloppily he winds it around and around the wood, not at all even the way Kieran had painstakingly done the rest. Kieran stops him with a hand over Jack's. His other hand finds the small of Jack's back, rests there with one finger brushing a bit lower suggestively.

"If you cooperate and do a good job, and then..." Kieran smiles mischievously at him and strips off the knitted jumper he had been wearing under the apron. Now wearing just a white sleeveless undershirt, he turns away from Jack who is ogling just a little and goes downstairs to survey the kitchen.

"And then what!?" Jack calls after him, but as Kieran walks under the stairs he sees Jack fixing the garland.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Keeper's Gloves.

Kieran enters the kitchen and checks for the 100th time that everything is under control. He uses his undershirt to wipe his forehead as he considers the fact that everything is on schedule and there are still 2 hours before the guests will start to arrive. Some time to kill and an excited boy upstairs...

He laughs breathily when he hears the hoover run somewhere in another part of the house. An extremely excited boy who is willing to jump through some pretty rare hoops to get what he wants, it seems. Kieran walks into the den and stands in front of the stereo, contemplating his next move.

For some reason he finds his mind stuck on a night that was weeks ago now, that in a flurry of matches, wins and losses and injury scares for practically everyone, he hadn't allowed himself to give much thought. Wojciech Szczesny, cornering him at the training grounds.

"You've been avoiding me." He had said, amusement in his tone but a hard glint in his eyes. Kieran tries to hold his gaze, tries not to look like the mess Wojciech has made him feel like for weeks now.

"I figured I was the very last person you wanted to see." He replies fiercely.

"All the same." Wojciech says, letting the sentence hang. He could have called Kieran any number of things; coward, thief, cuckold, liar, fool. Any one of which would be true from this man's lips. Kieran doesn't reply, is thrown off by the companionable silence of years and years of friendship that still thaws the crisp air between them. He had imagined growing cold at the sight of Woj again, of an apology dying in his throat when he realizes the calamity of the past few weeks and what was it really worth? He imagines his premature falling apart as Wojciech tells him what he already knows, that he's wasting his career and his heart on a boy that will never care for him the way he wants. Any defiance he still felt drained out of him as they continued to stare at each other. Finally Wojciech breaks the silence.

"You didn't know, did you?"

"Honestly? No." Kieran replies with more softness than he intended. Wants to bite the words back, hold his tongue in defense of the boy who probably doesn't deserve his loyalty but he hears no malice in the question and somehow Wojciech is pulling him apart in a way he never thought he would. Wojciech takes a step towards him, his stance more friendly and open and Kieran feels his shoulders slump, the stress of the past few weeks suddenly unbearable. He purses his lips and curses himself for feeling so vulnerable in front of this man who should feel nothing but antipathy towards him. He doesn't want his pity and nor does he deserve it. And Jack doesn't deserve the faultless wording of the question. Not that Kieran didn't know that Jack and Wojciech were together and Kieran was coming between, but that Jack didn't tell him.

"I'm sorry," Wojciech says. Kieran backs away, stares incredulously at the taller man.

" _You're_ sorry!? Whatever for?" Confusion only begins to cover the emotions swirling in his head in that moment. He realizes at the same time that he has allowed Jack to colour all of his memories of Wojciech with a brush stained with anger, jealousy, manipulation. Who is really manipulating him, Kieran is no longer sure. His emotions must be showing in his face because Wojciech stops moving towards him, as if afraid Kieran is a moment away from taking off running.

"I'm sorry I let my pride get in the way of the match." Wojciech continued. "I realize now, that's what it was. I should have communicated with you on the field no matter what, it was very unprofessional of me. There is nobody to blame for that except myself. My choice. Not yours. Not his. Mine. So I am sorry for that."

Kieran realized that Wojciech is a braver man than he has ever been. The cold, calculated way he has of looking at things coming to Kieran's rescue.

Kieran is still dumbfounded. He tries to stutter out a response but nothing coherent passes his lips. Accept the apology or take the responsibility back for himself? For a split second the suffocating fear he felt that day when Wojciech refused to answer his call from just beyond the penalty mark, the dread that sent his mind spinning when he felt so utterly and completely alone out there comes rushing back to him. The bile in his throat when they clashed, when a tense Jack and then a despondent Wojciech were forced off the pitch. When all thanks to him Arsenal struck chords of disharmony that vibrated through the entire team and nearly tore them apart. All of the ifs that haunted his mind, if he hadn't have told Jack that Wojciech was ignoring him at half time, if he had have remembered to trust his goalkeeper despite the fact that he has all but invisible to him, if he had have never slept with Jack Wilshere in the first place.

Kieran forced himself to swallow. He licked his lips and willed himself to find words. "I'm sorry as well. For everything." He says, gesturing vaguely to the space between them. Wojciech nods as if these short, useless words are enough. As if he still understands the Kieran Gibbs he's played alongside for ages. The conversation feels as though it is drawing to a close. Wojciech closes the space between them, as if the apology tore down a wall. He stops in front of Kieran, lets a finger run across Kieran's lower lip. Kieran stands, frozen, unsure of whether he's about to be kissed or punched in the face. Unsure of which would surprise him more.

"We don't have to be enemies. We don't have to be apart. Nothing has to be over." Wojciech says, his English slipping a bit, maybe out of nerves. He is asking quite a lot out of Kieran in this moment, Kieran realizes. "Think on that." Wojciech finishes. He caresses Kieran's cheek ever so slightly before he continues on his way, leaving a thoroughly confused Kieran frozen in the corridor, a million and one questions unformed in his mind.

And Kieran would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he thought about the offer Wojciech was making often, let it send hot pangs of arousal burning in his gut.

So when Kieran found a pair of Keeper's gloves in the bedside drawer the other night when he was cleaning up the master bedroom, he was less hurt by the suggestion behind it and more intrigued by the possibilities it presented. He had taken the gloves and Jack had never asked where they had gone. He wasn't sure why they were there but he was sure he wanted to find out.

With that memory still fresh in his mind, Kieran made a decision. He flicked on the radio, already preset to a station playing Christmas tunes. The stereo speakers were turned up loud, the sound was immediately deafening, the bass threatening to send baubles flying off the tree to shatter across the floor. Kieran didn't even turn it down. He let his ears adjust as he returned to the kitchen where he had discarded the apron. From the bottom drawer he knew Jack would never look in he removed the keeper's gloves. He checked everything in the kitchen one last time before stripping off the rest of his clothes except for his briefs. Soon he was clad only in the apron, the santa hat, briefs, and the keeper's gloves. He checked his reflection in the shiny door of the oven and opted for leaving out the hat. There's only so much ridiculousness that can still be sexy, he thinks.

Kieran goes upstairs to find Jack in the bedroom, stripped down to his boxers and rocking the fuck out to Jingle Bell Rock, with the vacuum as his dancing partner. Between the roaring vacuum and the music drifting up from downstairs he doesn't hear Kieran enter at first so Kieran enjoys the sight for a good minute, and Jack is really into it. He is swaying his hips as he pushes the vacuum away from him and even shaking his ass a little bit, singing along though Kieran can't hear him. Kieran almost considers backing silently out of the room because he's not sure he will like Jack's reaction when he realizes he's being watched. But before Kieran can move Jack looks up and jumps backwards in surprise, dropping the vacuum handle and narrowly missing his injured foot. At first they stare at each other, the vacuum still humming and sucking uselessly at the same spot of carpet, the music thumping through the walls, but then Jack starts to laugh. His face pinks but his smile is wide and relaxed so Kieran laughs with him, nearly falling over in giddiness at Jack's high spirits. Jack uses his good foot to flick the switch on the vacuum and crosses the room to where Kieran is propping himself up on the door frame. He was so wrong, in the most ridiculous of circumstances Jack Wilshere was still the sexiest thing he had ever laid eyes on. Jack wraps strong arms around Kieran and squeezes him tight as he leans over his bent form and presses a kiss to the soft spot behind Kieran's ear.

"Did I do good?" He asks against Kieran's ear as Kieran is breathing heavily, trying to control his laughter.

"So good." Kieran replies between breaths. Jack kisses him again, at the corner of his mouth just brushing against his lips lightly.

"You're so sexy when you smile." Jack says, pressing himself against Kieran as Kieran turns his body so his back is against the door frame, chest still heaving. "I love the little gap in your teeth, nobody knows how goofy you are until they make you crack a -- where did you find those?" Jack stopped cold, for Kieran had wrapped his arms around Jack and finally Jack noticed the keeper's gloves as the cold latex brushed against his bare skin. 

"I think you know exactly where I found them. Are they Wojciech's?" Kieran tightened his grip when Jack tried to twist away. He was taking a gamble on Jack's mood but he didn't care.

"No, Gibbo, they're Ospina's, that other goalkeeper I've been shagging. Of course they're Wojciech's." Jack retorts. His cheeks colour a little at the small admission he had just made. 

"So you do know where I found them." Kieran says, moving his hands to cup Jack's ass, pushing Jack closer against him. To avoid eye contact more than anything, Jack starts to kiss Kieran's neck. For a minute Kieran can do nothing but lean his head against the door frame, enjoying the sensation and the feeling of Jack's cock hardening against his leg as his hands clutch harder and softer with the pressure of Jack's lips on his throat. "Did he jerk you off with the gloves on?" Kieran asks raggedly.

"Why are we still talking about this." Jack responds as he reaches around to untie the apron, daintier than his violent tug earlier. "And you cheated, I said nothing but the apron." His fingers pull at the elastic of Kieran's briefs playfully before he yanks them over his thighs and lets them fall to the floor.

"And you let Wojciech Szczesny fuck you with his gloves on."

Jack steps back to admire Kieran as he had requested him (which is really no different from before at this angle) and smirks, whether at the comment or the sight, Kieran isn't sure. Kieran tries and fails to guide the tips of the gloves in order to pull down Jack's boxers and barking a laugh Jack drops to his knees. He smooths the apron over Kieran's stomach so that his erection is visible beneath it.

"So are you going to fuck me with those gloves on?" Jack asks him. He presses his tongue against the bulge which draws a sharp intake of breath out of Kieran. He uses his palm to hold the apron still and fondle Kieran's balls while he works his tongue to spread the wet mark along the length of Kieran's shaft. This is new. Jack grins up at Kieran and Kieran puts gloved hands tentatively in Jack's hair.

"Is that what you like?"

"What do I have to do to make you forget about this?" Jack asks him, but he's already doing it. He shoves the apron roughly aside and presses a hand to each of Kieran's thighs, holding him still against the door. He looks at Kieran again and Kieran practically shivers in anticipation. "Please take them off." Jack says politely. 

"Can you just --" but Kieran loses his line of questioning when Jack takes him in his mouth, overwhelmed by the heat of his strong tongue pressing against the tip of his cock. Jack only takes him in half way before pulling out and swallowing hard.

"Can _you_ just take them off." Jack pleads. He spits in his hand and strokes along the length of him a few times and Kieran longs to thread his bare hands through Jack's hair, feel the heat of his skin. Stupid gloves. Instead he tries to grip Jack's shoulders but doesn't manage to do so convincingly through the fabric.

"No." He insists anyway. He feels Jack's hot wet mouth stretching around him again and lets out a little gasp when he takes him a little deeper.

"Then how are you going to fuck my mouth with no hands?" Jack says, the tip of Kieran still against his tongue. When Jack moves his mouth down again Kieran tries to buck his hips, straining to push deeper but Jack's strong hands on his thighs hold him steady and the gloved hands are preventing him from getting a grip. He braces his hands instead against the wall and Jack takes him even deeper, moves a little faster. But with Jack's hands busy holding Kieran still and Kieran's gloved hands useless they are agonizingly stuck at this point that is not quite enough friction. Jack bobs his head a few more times, shallowly, teasingly slow, and finally Kieran gives in.

He rips the gloves off and throws them across the room, the air cool against his now bare hands as he takes a handful of Jack's hair. Jack frees one of Kieran's thighs to cup his balls and then stroke him in time with his mouth. Kieran guides him a little deeper but lightly, not wanting Jack to choke. 

"I can't believe you -- Ah, fuck, slow down. I can't believe you just sucked my dick for the first time ever because you don't want me to know your glove kink." At that comment Jack uses his other hand to deliver a sharp slap to Kieran's ass, then grips it tightly in his hand, forcing Kieran's hips forward and his cock further into his mouth with the thrust. Kieran feels himself touch the back of Jack's throat and his hands find a grip on either side of Jack's face, and Jack stops moving to let Kieran guide him. Kieran thrusts himself inside of Jack's obliging mouth a few times but he feels pleasure building in his balls too soon, already really close to busting. He slows the movements first but Jack's hands are now exploring dangerously close to his entrance and he almost gives in. "Fuck, stop, I'm too close." He quickly pushes Jack's head away before it becomes too much. He breathes in and out slowly, trying to regain control of his body, leaning heavily on the door frame as Jack drags his forearm across his mouth.

"I didn't suck your dick because of that. I would have done it anyway." Jack says, a little petulant. But then he contradicts himself. "Just tell me you're not cross." 

Kieran pulls Jack to his feet and shoves him backwards lightly, not wanting to force awkward movement on his healing ankle. Jack looks back quickly and lets himself fall onto the bed as Kieran is already stripping off his boxers. He stands over Jack, enjoying the pleading look being bestowed upon him before he reaches towards the bedside table for the lube. He slicks lube along his fingers and kisses Jack hard, the way he's only ever allowed to do when they fuck. Jack opens his mouth eagerly and Kieran lets his tongue explore the heat of Jack's mouth, a lingering taste of the salty of his own body as one finger pushes experimentally against Jack's entrance. When Jack arches his hips Kieran pushes one finger in unceremoniously and Jack gasps into his mouth, his tongue pushing back against Kieran, his body arching, trying to increase the pressure against that bundle of nerves inside of him. Kieran breaks off the kiss to take one of Jack's nipples between his teeth, biting a little bit, causing Jack to cry out as he pushes a second finger inside of him. 

"I'm not cross." Kieran says finally and he licks a stripe up Jack's chest. "I'm very very turned on. I want to know the dirty disgusting things Wojciech did to you. Would you let him fuck you? Did you suck his cock?" 

"Jesus Christ, Kieran." Jack groans, either at the question, or Kieran's third finger adding pressure, or both.

"Would you like to watch me suck his?" Kieran asked him. But Jack was tugging at his wrist.

"Please." Was all he said. Kieran's hands shook as he grabbed a condom and rolled it down his own throbbing cock. Jack shifted up the bed and spread his legs, ran his own hand over the dark bruise Kieran had made on his still hard nipple. Kieran kissed him again, hard and deep, and Jack's hand went down to guide him inside. On the first thrust inside they both gasped, hands squeezing flesh, pulling each other closer. 

"Did he fuck you like this, Jack?" Kieran said, thrusting hard inside of him, and Jack's hips pushed against him, encouraging him deeper, his taut ass gripping so tight around Kieran's cock. Fuck, Jack had never let him do this before and it felt so good he thought he would come right away.

"Yes." Jack said. He thrust his hips to match Kieran's rhythm and Kieran forgot about Wojciech for a few minutes. All that existed was his body moving against Jack's, the feeling of being inside of him, of Jack wanting him to fill him up, of Jack taking his hand and moving it to his cock, slick with precome, a silent appeal to be stroked. Of their ragged breathing between messy kisses where teeth bit into lips and moans were exchanged instead of air. Then their movements were becoming erratic and out of time and Kieran thrust deep as he came, twisting his wrist and feeling Jack's body tense around him and warm spurts of Jack's come landed on his arm and across Jack's stomach. He collapsed on top of Jack as soon as he pulled out and they both lay there gasping for air for a few moments before Kieran finally rolled over. 

He instinctively knew Jack would be self conscious and so he passed a box of tissue over without looking as he got up, wiping his own arm off.

"I'm going to take a shower." He said, heading for the ensuite.

"Wait." Jack said from the bed and Kieran turned to look at him. He was smiling at him in the most beautiful way, a slow smile playing across his face, hair disheveled and legs splayed lazily across the bed, tangled in sheets. His face was still flushed from the exercise and sweat dappled his chest. "You said you weren't cross."

"I'm not. I'm really really not." Kieran promised.

"Then come on, give us a kiss." Kieran's heart beat hard in his chest as he crossed the room and kissed him, Jack running a hand across his sensitive skin in a tender way and letting the kiss linger in the languorous warmth of their sated bodies and their beating hearts. It was the most intimate kiss they had ever shared. When they broke away Jack smiled appreciatively at Kieran's naked body. "I didn't peg you for a guy who would fuck someone and just leave like that." Jack said with a wink. Kieran had to wonder if Jack really had no idea how unaffectionate he seemed at any other time.

"I said I'm not angry, you don't have to keep sucking up." Kieran joked. "I'll shower down the hall, yeah?" Kieran grabbed his towel from earlier on his way out of the room while Jack looked in no hurry to move from the bed. "People will be coming soon!" Kieran called over his shoulder.

When Kieran came downstairs he found Jack sitting on the couch in the side room, where he had turned the music down to a reasonable level so as to hear people arriving. He had his injured leg elevated out of habit (he was almost ready to rejoin training) and was flipping idly through his phone but put it on the table when he saw Kieran. He spread his arms so Kieran could see he was wearing the jumper he had picked out for him. The grinch that he was, Jack had only agreed to go as far as wearing a green and red knitted shirt for the occasion. Kieran, on the other hand, had gone all out. His jumper had actual working lights on it, which he flipped on now.

"You are such a dork." Jack said affectionately. 

"Oh just wait until you see Walcott." Kieran replied. He went to the kitchen and checked everything again. As it was before; some items were being kept warm in the oven while others were well covered in the fridge. Nothing out of place. Any minute now the guests would arrive. He wondered who would be first and suddenly felt a tad nervous. Would they wonder why he was there already? He moved to stand fretfully in the corridor and started to tap his foot nervously against the hard wood of the floor.

He felt warm breath tickle the back of his neck just a moment before he felt Jack press against him, hugging him from behind. He closed his eyes and inhaled the sent of Jack, not worrying about the soft affection in his expression betraying him from this angle. He thread his fingers through Jack's and squeezed lightly. Jack rested his head on Kieran's shoulder.

"You're so affectionate today." Kieran commented, trying to sound noncommittal, like it didn't really matter, it was all casual, nothing mattered.

"This has been nice." Jack admitted. "All of it. Being here together a while. Preparing for the party. Letting you, you know. Doing that to you. Felt good."

"Had you ever...?"

"Nope. I hope you feel special."

"I do." Kieran agreed, and maybe a hint of sadness seeped into his voice because Jack gently took his chin in his hand turned his head to kiss him, slow and soothing. They broke off for a moment and then Jack kissed him again, a soft moan escaping him, that seemed to suggest the utter contentment that Kieran also felt. For a split second, Kieran felt so deliriously happy, wanted to trap the moment in his hands, put everything on pause and just keep it for a while. One of Jack's hands squeezed lightly over Kieran's chest and he felt the first jabs of arousal starting all over again.

But then Carl Jenkinson walked in the front door.

"Alright, lads?"


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3 French Men.

Olivier was straightening his bow tie when there came a knock at his door. Perplexed, he frowned at his reflection and wondered who on earth could be calling on him. He lived alone, had hardly any friends in London, and wasn't expecting visitors as he was on his way out the door. He peered through the frosted glass of his window and recognized the spiky hair even through the distorted pane.

Olivier eagerly threw open the door. "Mat?" He peered down at the smaller man, who stood awkwardly with his hands shoved in his pockets, body tensed against the cold. Snow was sticking between the spikes in his hair and he was looking like he had regretted his decision to pay his old friend a visit. Olivier ushered him inside, cooing in French as he brushed snow from his shoulders. He tried to ignore Mathieu shying away from his touch. "But what are you doing here? I thought you were to Paris to visit Yohan. Is everything ok?" He asked.

"I am taking the train to France tomorrow." Mathieu replied evasively. "Since I am in London another night, I thought I should attend the Christmas party." Mathieu patted down his hair which was damp from the melting snow, staring down at the floor. Olivier clenched his hands to prevent himself from acting on the overwhelming desire to reach over and touch Mathieu. His affection quickly spoils when he remembers Wenger wishing Mathieu a safe flight just yesterday.

"And so I ask again, what are you doing here?" And maybe Olivier has no right to be angry at this, but nobody has ever said Olivier Giroud has a handle on his temper. One day Mat is saying he wants nothing to do with him, the next he is on his doorstep. He does not want to be the person Mathieu thinks he can turn to, if, for example, he is merely having a small fight with the man he actually wants to be with. Olivier knows for a fact that he was meant to fly to France this morning. A simple phone call to Yohan would straighten the whole matter out, but Olivier realizes he is the last person Yohan would want to speak to about Debuchy. And it would be rather of bad taste to ring up someone's boyfriend to ask whether they are getting along. He concentrates instead on tying his trainers as he tries to calm himself down. Sometimes he says rash things when he allows himself to act before he thinks.

"These younger English boys. I didn't want to arrive to the party alone." Mathieu explained, a little bashful. The way Olivier liked him best. All quiet charm and intelligence, ready to be coaxed out of himself by the right man. Of which Olivier has frequently proven he is not. The right man, that is. A few times he was, and a few times more he has been awash in bitter regret when he was short of the mark.

"Don't be silly, Debuch, you have already such a good relationship with them. I know that they are fond of you."

"And so, what is it you are saying?" 

"Only that I hope you are feeling as comfortable at Arsenal as you did at Newcastle, my friend."

"How can I be?" Mathieu asks, his eyes blazing now as they meet Olivier's. Olivier jumps to his feet, pointing a finger into Mathieu's chest and putting his face much too close as many British people have told him he does.

"Why did you come here? If you want to continue to meet my frequent apologies with animosity you can't just show up at my house because Yohan has been cruel to you. That is not what I am." 

"And you can't continue to act as if you are in any way sorry while carrying on the way that you do, Olivier. After all that I have done for you and you still see fit to string me along, ungrateful for the thorns I have walked upon and tending to me like another rose in your garden of suitors." 

"Mathieu..." Olivier begins.

"No, Oli, I don't need to hear it all over again. I promise you I didn't come here looking for a fight. As you have well figured out, Yohan has asked me not to come home for Christmas and it is partly because of you. He has observed that we are becoming close and it is bothering him more than he thought it would."

"He said it himself that it was a good idea for you to come to Arsenal. How is it fair that he should treat you like that. Let me speak to him --"

"No, leave it be. I just want to enjoy the company of my new friends in England tonight. Will you come with me?"

"Of course."

"Then please, we should speak no more of this. By the way, your outfit is very English. I didn't realize you were so good at blending in."

Olivier was wearing a black blazer with white polka dots and deep red chinos. His bow tie is green with lighter green Christmas trees patterned across it. He supposed there was something reminiscent of London styles in the cut of the trousers. He grinned and winked despite being unsure whether it was a compliment. He rocked the look either way.

"And where is your Christmas spirit, Debuch?" Mathieu lifted a thick red scarf from the folds of his coat to indicate his festive touch. Olivier nods appreciatively and the pair fall into old patterns of amiability. Olivier offers an arm to Mathieu which he hardly hesitates to link with his own and they march out into the snowy street.

"And like a true Londoner, I shall hail us a cab." Olivier tells him.

"Ah but wait, I have told Laurent to meet us here." Mathieu stops dead in his tracks, dragging Olivier backwards as he reaches into his coat for his phone. Olivier can't look away fast enough to avoid seeing a message from Yohan flashing across the screen.

Do you still love him?

"He said he would be arriving about 15 minutes ago." Mathieu tells him, replacing his phone in his pocket and rolling his eyes. Olivier runs his hands up and down Debuchy's arms as he shivers, trying to create friction to warm him up. When he turns the motion into a hug Mathieu doesn't pull away. They stand in the snow like that for a minute, Olivier hugging Mat tighter when he feels his chest heaving. When Olivier steps back though Mathieu's face is dry but for the snow and he smiles at Olivier weakly.

"Are you sure you're okay, mon coco?" Olivier asks, removing a glove to brush a snowflake from Mathieu's cheek. Mathieu turns his face away and Olivier realizes he has missed the mark, as usual.

"Please, Oli." Mat says quietly. "I just want to enjoy the night and not think about all of these things. Can you give me that?"

"Of course." Olivier says, though he is bursting with reassurances. That he is so grateful that Mathieu has joined him at Arsenal and how much it has helped him. How lonely he had been before Mathieu came and once Jennifer had returned to France. How even though much of the time Mathieu can't bear to speak to him, he feels less lonely knowing that Mathieu found it in his heart to be here for him, and takes comfort in the fact that it will one day mean forgiveness. That he will wait forever for that day and until then do everything he can to be the right man. Though he will be far from perfect much of the time.

Instead they stand a few feet apart, blinking up at the snow, wondering where their friend could be.

"Ahh, look at my little love birds. They will turn to statues and let the snow claim them before they should take shelter in each other." Says a voice from behind them, the statement delivered wryly.

"Lolo, how are you coming from that direction when we were looking for you in the streets?" Mathieu asks him, taking steps to separate himself further from Olivier.

"You didn't receive my messages?" 

Mathieu pulls out his phone and exhales a laugh, his breath misting in the air. He waves the screen at Olivier to read. Half of the messages are emojis.

Knocking on Olivier's door but he is not answering

I'll try the back

Anybody home? Olivier has left his door open in the back garden.

Olivier motions for Mathieu to open the picture Laurent had sent him below heart eyed emojis. From inside of Olivier's house (he recognizes the pale yellow glass of the window beside his door) Laurent captured Mathieu and Olivier holding each other in the streets. From the distance they were just two figures blending into one in the middle of a blizzard as cars passed by in a blur on the busy London street. Nobody else could know it was them.

"You, my friend, are creepy stalker. Why would you walk into my house without being invited? Maybe I would have mistaken you for an intruder and attacked you."

"Then we would have a funny story to tell. Shall we go on to the party now?"

Mathieu had already stepped out into the street and waved for a cab. Lolo gave Olivier a questioning look which Olivier responded to by shaking his head. Laurent scrunched his face at this and Olivier looked away sadly. Mathieu flapped his arms at them as he stepped into a cab.

"Do you think we will be penalized for being late?" Laurent asked into the tense silence of the cab as they pulled away from the curb.

"Not if our driver knows the right route." Mathieu replies from the front seat, and shifts his body away to converse with the cabbie in shy, uncertain English.

"Something tells me this party will be one to remember." Laurent says quietly to Olivier as they speed off into the onset of the night, the view ahead obscured by the storm.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four Christmas Shirts.

Back at Jack's house Kieran quickly steps forward so he and Jack are no longer touching, but Kieran can't help but notice that Jack doesn't seem ill at ease having been caught with his arms around a team mate.

"Jenko!?" Kieran says, excitement growing as the moment passes and Carl isn't demanding any sort of explanation or looking uncomfortable.

"Gibbo, nice to see you, nice to see you. Digging the jumper." Carl replies with a nod. He smiles warmly and reassuringly at the pair and Jack returns the nod. Kieran wonders what Carl knows.

"But Jack didn't tell me you were coming!" Kieran explains.

"You think someone can stop Carl Danger Jenkinson from coming to an Arsenal party? You forget who you're speaking to, kid." Carl replies as he removes his winter things.

"Where's Chambo?" Jack asks, making no move to take Carl's things, and so Carl tries to hang them awkwardly over the desk table in the corridor.

"He's just outside, on the phone to his girlfriend, barf." Carl says.

"Girlfriend?" Jack and Kieran both raise an eyebrow.

"By girlfriend I mean mother, of course."

"It ain't me mother it's me grandmother, and his middle name ain't Danger. Dangerous driver, more like." Says a voice from behind Carl. "After surviving the drive over I felt compelled to ring her up and tell her I love her, in case I don't survive the ride home."

"Find another way home then, yeah?" Carl says, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, better you than Szczesny to be completely honest. Guy thinks he's a stunt driver." Alex makes his way into the room, shaking hands with Jack and Kieran, a bottle of wine in his other hand.

"Is Szczesny coming?" Carl asks, exchanging a look with Jack. Kieran looks aghast between them, and Carl finally has the decency to look uncomfortable.

"Should be, yeah." Jack replies in an offhand way. Alex hands Jack the bottle of wine, completely unaware of the subtext and completely uninterested in it.

"Are we the first one's here and all?" Alex asks, craning his neck to look into the next room. "I mean, besides the hired help that is." Alex jibes, grinning toothily at Kieran. He lets out a low whistle as his eyes fall upon the tree and then follow the garland up the banister to the second floor. "How much did he pay you to do all this, eh?" At the comment Jack and Carl both swallow grins and Kieran starts to feel ill. Being on the other side of Carl Jenkinson's churlishness and in this context is going to make for an unpleasant night for him if he doesn't do something quick.

"Not enough, Ox, never enough." Kieran replies, winking at Carl. It's Jack's turn to colour as Carl elbows him in the side as he laughs.

"Pure banter."

"Who can't give Kieran enough?" Wojciech asks as he walks into the corridor, shrugging off his jacket. Kieran's heart jumps into his throat as he meets Wojciech's eyes. He smiles bashfully at him and gestures to his own jumper. "I think you've outdone me, mate, nice one." Wojciech says. "But at least I'm wearing one." He adds, eyes swinging to Jack who takes one look at him and turns for the kitchen. Carl jokingly pulls nervously at his collar, prompting a glare out of both Wojciech and Kieran simultaneously. 

"So where do we go from here?" Alex asks innocently, gesturing into the den. A literal question.

"Er, sure, yeah. I'm going to. The kitchen. I'll take that from you, Woj." Kieran says awkwardly and Wojciech hands him the platter of desserts.

"It's, er, sernik--Polish dessert. Well, you'll see later, I guess." Wojciech mumbles as he hands the platter to Kieran. Their hands brush and Wojciech quickly withdraws his hand as if scalded.

"Thanks." Kieran replies. Carl claps his hand together to clear the air and ushers Alex into the next room. Kieran finds Jack bent over the countertop, arms locked at the elbows, palms splayed across the granite.

"Is your brother here yet?" He asks, not looking up when he hears Kieran open the fridge.

"Nope. Not yet. You didn't put that wine in the fridge did you, you don't--" 

"No. I know. I didn't." Jack says crisply. And Kieran starts to feel anger creep up to sit in his jawline, gritting his teeth. What right does Jack have to be upset in any of this. 

"How much does Carl know?" Kieran asks abruptly.

"I don't know. He knew about Wojciech and I. Walked in on us one time. Don't worry, he won't tell."

"Oh, well isn't that a great comfort to me. Why am I the last person to know about everything?" As he said it he realized that's why he was truly angry. Finally Jack looked up at him, a soft expression in his eyes, pleading almost. Another emotion there; his eyes shining with fear. It provokes a memory to surface in Kieran's mind, Jack on that first night, drink after drink burning their throats until neither of them could stand up straight. Hands shaking when he first put hands on him, skin clammy. Kieran's attempts at conversation afterwards that were met with dismissive grunts until he dropped the subject, implored into pretending they hadn't just had sex. _Don't tell anyone_ , Jack had begged him, and Kieran thought he understood that fear. Had thought he was the first. Now he felt like a filthy mistake that has stuck around and ruined things. And then he thought of the last few days, of how easily it had all started to fall into place. He refused to let his ego get in the way of how far they had come. He had been in Jack's place once, long ago. But he had a brother who supported him, a lot less pressure than Jack has had, thrust into the spotlight as he was. 

"You said you weren't cross." Jack repeats the words from earlier. Kieran has to stop and think about that. Is Jack afraid of losing him because of Wojciech? Could that really be what all of this is about?

Kieran makes a show of glancing around the room, so Jack is as aware as he is that they are alone. He gives Jack his most winning smile, rewarded by Jack's cheeks dimpling into a smile of his own.

"Hey," Kieran says lightly, pretending to shift some things on the counter as he moves closer to Jack. He leans in to whisper in his ear. "If this party goes as planned, we might all get what we want." Kieran lets his lip brush slightly against Jack's ear. Jack wraps an arm around Kieran's waist, pulling him into a one armed hug. He even risks a hand dipping lower, a little bit rough, grabbing a handful of Kieran's ass and squeezing.

"What do we all want?" Jack asks, not missing the plural.

"To find out what those Keeper's Gloves can do." Kieran winks and leaves Jack stranded at the counter, caught completely off guard by this new possibility.

The hallway is now crowded with Arsenal players. Per and Lukas have taken up post at the hallway closet, putting jackets onto hangers and shouting insults in the process (Lukas, not Per. Okay, maybe a little Per). Kieran sees his brother near the back of the group, craning his head over Mathieu Debuchy's, a little bit lost without his brother to welcome him.

"Jaydon!" Kieran calls over the heads of Flamini and Cazorla and his brother's face lights up when he sees Kieran. Mikel shoves Alexis and Danny out of the way so Jaydon can pass which nearly causes a fight when a ruffled Alexis jostles him back. They start to argue in rapid Spanish and Santi moves to intervene with a laugh. Kieran embraces his brother and they survey the cacophony of the hallway. It seems that almost everyone has arrived.

"I think people are making their way to the den?" Jaydon asks Kieran, and Kieran nods and gestures for Jaydon to lead the way. "Did the prep times all work out alright?" He raises his voice over the noise of 20 footballers trying to enter a house.

"Yes, thanks again, Jaydon. Huge help. Jack and I would have had to hire a chef." Just then they cross into the den area and are greeted by those who have already shed their coats.

"Ah, the third twin is here!" Alex says happily. "I'd get up and hug you bruv, but I've claimed a place on this sofa." Aaron, who is perched on the arm of the couch, smiles brightly at Kieran and points at his shirt. Aaron is also wearing a Christmas jumper, patterned with various Christmas symbols and words and, Kieran can't help but notice, looks very well groomed and relaxed with his hair down flat. He gives Aaron a thumbs up and greets a few more players, all of which are trying squeeze onto the couch in the centre of the den. There are two more full sized couches lining the walls and plenty of chairs dragged in but people are gathering around the middle of the room. Theo enters from the dining room with a platter of hors d'oeuvres already.

"Naw, my jumper still takes the cake." He says, holding his plate away from himself to show a sweater that looks like he has a tiny santa body. With super quick reflexes his real arm flicks out to slap Calum on the wrist when Chambers makes a grab for Theo's plate. "Oi!"

Jaydon rests an arm on his brother's shoulder to get his attention. "I'm going to help Jack put everything on the counter." He says, and Kieran nods and moves to follow his brother into the kitchen. But then a strong hand clasps his shoulder. He turns to find Wojciech in his personal space.

"Hang on, we need a picture of the four in the jumpers." He says, and Jaydon waves for him to go back.

"I bought one for Arteta, but he refused to wear it tonight." Theo says through a mouthful of food, gesturing around with a toothpick.

"They are ridiculous." Mikel says, crossing his arms and looking rather snobby. Danny and Hector guffaw beside him.

"I think they look fab." Carl says loudly. Alexis is wandering around the group snapping photos. Aaron, Wojciech, Theo and Kieran pose. They dim the lights and pose again for the full effect of Kieran's jumper, and then Alexis wants a picture with him and then everyone is jumping up for photos. Kieran finds his way into the now deserted corridor but is stopped again by the same arm on his shoulder.

"Hi." Wojciech says uneasily when Kieran glances at his hand. He withdraws his hand and crosses his arms, trying and failing to look casual. Is Kieran making him nervous?

"Here's what gets me." Kieran begins without any preamble. "You lot have known I'm gay for years, ages, yeah? And none of you thought to mention? This whole time I thought I was the only one." _I thought I was so alone._ Kieran thinks, but doesn't add. _And all along you had each other._

"I'm not gay." Kieran arches a brow at this. Similar words out of Jack's mouth. "I'm bisexual. I guess I didn't really, think about it until Jack. If that makes sense. And at that point--"

"He asked you not to tell anyone." Kieran finishes for him.

"Well, yeah." Wojciech grimaces at him. "I guess you know the score now."

"Not really. Where do we all stand?"

"You know where I stand." Wojciech practically whispers, as if afraid to make the suggestion again. Kieran steps a bit closer to Wojciech, close enough to feel his chest heaving with each breath, to smell his cologne (an almost leathery, musky smell), to feel the heat of his body. He had never really been close to Wojciech like this before. He swallows hard and refrains from doing anything more, with so many teammates only a stone's throw away.

"I'm just not sure how I fit into that." Kieran says softly, an honest truth. The thing he was most afraid of would be becoming just a spectator in an old lovers' game.

"You'll fit. I need you to." Wojciech replies. They had unconsciously drawn quite close, Wojciech ducking his head so his face was inches from Kieran's, and pressing Kieran up against the desk that still had Alex and Carl's coats on it. They both exhale heavily but just before either can close the space to steal a kiss, someone clears their throat behind them.

"Dinner is served." Jack says flatly. And returns to the kitchen before either of them can say a word.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five Old Friend Things.

Alex had the distinct impression that he was speeding 130km/hour toward his death. He braces his hands on the dashboard, squeezes his eyes shut and pretends to mutter a prayer under his breath.

"What's that you're doing there, Ox?" Says the driver. Carl Jenkinson turns his face away from the road to his friend.

"Eyes on the road, would you! And slow down! I don't want to die, and on Christmas and all!" Alex pleads. Jenko snorts but faces forward again, jerking the wheel around a pretty sharp turn in the road. Alex gasped and gripped the dashboard harder as they whipped round the corner. Snow was coming down in a heavy blur, huge flakes splattering wetly against the windshield faster than the wipers could flick them off. Another car whooshed past them in the opposite direction, appearing to be going the same speed, as intent on violent death as Carl.

"Well maybe if you didn't make me drive to Wales to fetch you, I wouldn't have to make such good time. You know what Per will have to say of tardiness!" Carl retorts.

"My God, it's Leatherhead, Carl! Still in London basically! 20 minutes tops to Jack's from here." Carl snorts again.

"20 minutes, Grandmum says. What you driving, a turtle?"

"Wales, he says, what planet you living on, eh?"

"Point taken." Carl concedes. He also takes his foot off the pedal, and the car slows to an almost bearable speed. "Now will you stop with the hulk grip on her. She's old Gertie is, you shan't be so rough with her." Carl had inherited his father's old Ford Cortina which he regularly puts a lot of money into maintaining with the utmost care.

"So now I know you didn't learn to drive at West Ham, what did you learn?" Alex asks him, relaxing his grip on the dashboard finally. Besides a hasty embrace as snow came down over their heads, they hadn't done a lot of catching up on the drive so far, Alex having been fairly distracted by the prospect of death.

"Oh don't act like we didn't speak all this time, I'm pretty sure you could recite what I had for supper every night. With picture accompaniment!"

"Fish and chips. Every night like the posh bastard that you are."

"Except?"

"Except on Sundays when mum makes pork and beans." Alex recites.

Of course, Jenko had not been eating any of these things, certainly not every night. But it was a running joke that the pair of them constantly craved these foods and would send each other wistful snaps of other people's food, usually complete strangers whose unwary suppers had been captured in their natural state employing the greatest methods of espionage they could muster. It's worth noting that Carl had been caught at it twice as many times as Alex.

"God, I missed you." Carl exhales, and Alex shifts uncomfortably in his seat. In reality, they hadn't been speaking all that often. It's worth noting that Alex had avoided or missed twice as many of Carl's calls than vice versa, and made half as many calls to same.

"You didn't learn anything then, is that what I'm to understand?" Alex continued. 

"Actually, I can now name every single one of Song's siblings."

"You cannot." Alex retorts. Another running joke of theirs was to see who could learn the names of all 27 of Alex Song's siblings first, but Song always seemed to give the names in a different order, refused to write them down, and Carl would swear up and down that sometimes the names even changed. He must have caught onto their game.

"Just the sisters then. I swear."

"Go on then."

"To be completely honest, I could make them up, but I won't, I just didn't expect the joke to go this far." Carl admits with a laugh. Alex jokingly punches him on the arm. 

"West Ham is wasted on you." Alex says sarcastically. Carl laughs a little uneasily, and Alex decides to ignore that bit. There were rumours about a price on Carl's head that Alex didn't want confirmation about just yet.

"What about you, Chambo?" 

"What about me?"

"I don't know. Gone out with any girls lately?" Carl glanced at Alex out of the corner of his eye and Alex noticed his fists gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"Here and there. Not really." Alex says vaguely, shifting again in his seat and looking out the window beside him into white space.

"So not at all?" Carl hedges, a wry smile playing across his face.

"No." Alex says, grumpy now. "Been busy." He adds.

They sit in silence, and Alex gets the feeling Carl is waiting for something. He sighs and obliges.

"How about you? Been seeing...er, anyone?" 

"I have, yeah. Been out a few times. It's getting sort of serious, which is weird for me. Not used to someone returning all of my calls and texts regularly." Carl adds pointedly.

"How serious?" Alex is trying to ignore the clench in his gut at this new information. Suddenly Gertie is a furnace and despite being torn between wanting to drop the subject entirely and needing to know more, he ops to press on. Friends ask these things of other friends.

"Depends how serious you think a plus one at the BAFTAs is." Carl says, faux casual. Alex could almost see him inwardly grinning. The posh bastard.

"They up for anything?"

"Nah. No, she won't be nominated. She has a small role in one of the, er, series that is favoured for a few noms." Carl explains. His knuckles are going white with how hard he's gripping the wheel, but Alex can't help but think it's an improvement as Carl is now keeping diligent eyes on the road.

"She? You're dating a girl?"

"Yes, Alex. Funny how that works out sometimes. Jealous?"

"I'm not gay."

"I meant that I'm dating a girl and you're not. And neither am I."

"I meant I'm straight."

"Then say what you mean, yeah? How many times, Chambo."

"Sorry." Alex crosses his arms and stares fixedly through the wind shield, his irises flicking back and forth rapidly as he follows the path of snowflakes. Looking for all the world like a pouting child. 

"Alex." Carl croons, his voice reaching across the car to put a comforting arm around his best friend. The one who has been neglecting him for months. A new emotion, guilt seeps into Alex's bones.

"What." He grunts.

"Do you know that you are absolutely fantastic? The most amazing young talent to come out of England of this generation. The most fit one as well. How many articles have I read about how jacked you are, eh? You make me laugh more than anyone else in the world, partner in banter, and you win the favour of everyone you meet. He's charming, he's debonair, he's Oxlade-Chamberlain, girls beware! You are an absolute catch. You could tie a girl down like that." He snaps his fingers. "In a relationship I meant. Or, if you fancy it--"

"Okay, I get it, Carl. I do not need another lesson on the meaning behind BDSM." But he can't help but smile at Carl's words. Especially when he knows that he means every single one. "I should say the same of you, mate. I'm chuffed for you, honestly. You deserve someone great."

"Shucks, thanks pal." Carl says happily. They slip into a comfortable silence as they approach the core of the city and Carl has to be more aware of his surroundings. Carl is circling around near Jack's, trying to find the drive that he had been instructed to pull into and Alex feels so incomplete, so ill-equipped to walk into a party full of all of his mates when his inside is still doing back flips.

"I am jealous." He says quietly. Carl flicks on his signal as he swerves into the drive and slots Gertie into the last spot. He shuts off the car and turns to face Alex finally.

"Like I said, mate, you'll find someone, and they'll make you happier than you ever imagined. Trust me." The effect this has on Alex is the opposite of what Carl had intended. Is Carl saying he's in love with this girl?

"I'm jealous that someone has you." Alex clarifies. His face reddens so he continues. "I don't know why, I'm just telling you how I feel." Jenko considers this for a moment.

"Sometimes when a mate gets a girlfriend, it might feel like it will interfere with the friendship?" He offers.

"Maybe." Alex says slowly.

"Is this about what I said before?" Carl asks. Alex considers this, tests it on his raw nerves to see if it fits.

"Well if you don't love me any longer, then what am I to you?" All Alex had ever understood about Carl drunkenly confessing feelings for him was that it meant they weren't mates. It forced him to reject him and made him constantly wonder if his actions were giving Carl the wrong idea. As inexperienced as Alex won't admit he is in the relationship department, he couldn't help but feel he wasn't what Carl wanted him to be, and when he finally gave up on his courtship, Alex would just be a man who jilted him. The snow is coming down so hard it is already blanketing the car, blacking out the windows and muffling the world outside. Narrowing their world down to eyes meeting across the seat and hot breath misting the air.

"Alex." Carl begins. Takes a deep breath. Holds Alex's gaze in his own. "I'm only going to say this once, because I don't want you to keep worrying about it. That was never my intention. I don't regret saying it because it was true and is still true and I'm glad you know. I love you. I love all of you. As a person, as a friend, as anything at all. I love the fact that you exist and nothing will ever change that because you will always be exactly what you are. And that's Alex. So. Don't worry about that. I'll always be your friend, and I hope you can say the same. Nothing, not your girlfriend or mine, will ever make me feel differently about you. Nothing you say or do will do anything other than convince me that you are the amazing person I know you are." Alex nods, but doesn't know how to respond. He buries these words deep in his heart and they fit snugly next to his own feelings for Carl. There's no room in the small space for embarrassment or discomfort and everything they feel floats there, bolded for emphasis on the friendship Alex has cherished more than he had been willing to admit.

"Well then, in that case, I love you too." Alex ventures. Carl smiles crookedly at that, runs a hand absentmindedly through his hair. Alex looks for something in his face that might contradict the promises he had just made of unconditional admiration. His search recovers no hint of it.

"Well that's settled then. Onwards and upwards." Carl declares, opening his car door with a creak of rusty hinges. As Alex climbs out on his side, his phone starts to go off. Carl recognizes a personalized ringtone unchanged from months before.

"Your mum." Carl says to a confirming nod from Alex. Alex gestures for Carl to go on ahead as the snow is really coming down and Carl is already stumbling in the knee deep banks of snow leftover from the plow. 

"Tell her I say hi." He says with a wink and Alex smiles as he accepts the call.


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six Games A-Playing

Kieran stumbles blindly through the kitchen, forgetting about the buffet style method of serving and walks through without a plate of food. He wanders into the dining room where a huge table has been stretched, every plank of wood fitted to accommodate almost 30 people and searches the faces for Jack. He finds him already seated between Ainsley, Stefan and Calum chatting to one side, and Lukas and Per to the other. A bridge between the old and young. He already has a plate piled with a bit of everything, and is shoveling it into his mouth while seemingly following the conversations on both sides. He looks completely at ease, happy even, no hint of what he had just witnessed troubling his eyes or furrowing his brow or tensing his casual hand resting on the table. He must feel Kieran's stare boring into him because he looks up and finds him across the room. He winks jauntily at him and points with his fork to where Jaydon sits across the table and 4 seats down, a plate of food and an empty seat next to him for Kieran.

"Thanks, bruv." Kieran says, dropping into the chair beside his brother.

"You need to relax Kier, enjoy the food we worked so hard on, and let the party throw itself." Jaydon tells him.

"Yeah..." Kieran agrees hesitantly, pushing the food around his plate. Alex plunks himself down on Jaydon's other side with Carl in his wake. He slides a cup to the front of Kieran's place.

"Made this for you, happy Christmas." Alex drinks deeply from his own cup to the last drop, smacking his lips appreciatively.

"What's this? Rum and egg nog?" Alex nods. "No. Nah, you know I'm not drinking this, Chambo."

"Christmas is cancelled." Carl mumbles from Alex's side. Kieran glares at him, Jaydon grins but quickly turns the grin to a grimace when he catches his brother's eye. Kieran snatches the cup into his hand and glares into the contents. Thick creamy liquid peppered with what he can only assume is nutmeg. He inhales the heavy alcohol fumes as he tips the cup to his lips. He stares Carl down as he takes a few sips. His intention was to drain the cup, but instead he chokes and splutters when the spice gets caught in his throat.

"Did you put any egg nog in this rum?" He asks Alex. Alex grins innocently. Just then Jack passes by their section of the table. He taps the edge of his own cup to Kieran's, leans over and drapes an arm across Kieran's shoulder. Sneaks a reassuring squeeze. Kieran fights the temptation to lean into his touch.

"Drink up, Gibbo, it's going to be a wild night." Jaydon and Alex both look away in embarrassment and Kieran feels his face burning, but nonetheless he smiles brightly back at Jack. He feels like a spoiled child, basking in the attention of an adult they admire, despite having 3 years on Jack. Jack shifts his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably but doesn't withdraw his arm or try to smooth over the moment. Carl is watching Alex's expression, which he is working to wipe from his face. "And the games as well. Er, did you want to announce them or did you want me to make somebody else do it?"

Kieran takes another drink of the egg nog. "I'll do it, but in a bit. People are still eating."

"You mean Theo, Theo is still eating. What's that you think, third plate or fourth?"

"Fake Chambo too." Carl says quietly.

"True, the kid can eat."

Jack puts one hand in his pocket and moves down the table to talk to Danny and Theo. Kieran turns back to his full plate of food. He almost chokes when an arm goes around his neck and hugs him awkwardly.

"Wow, Kieran, the house looks amazing! How much did you get Jack to do for you?" Lauren has her face in Kieran's ear, her skin cold from just arriving. She releases him to hug Jaydon who stands and embraces her like old friends. Kieran had always gotten along with Lauren, but hadn't seen her since Jack had broke the news to her that they were together. They used to spend a bit of time together without Jack as Kieran liked the kids a lot and Lauren called on him sometimes. He was the only one she would complain to about Jack because he knew the circumstances of their relationship and it would never get leaked to the press. He breathed a silent sigh of relief that she was clearly unruffled by the developments. 

"Hey, I thought West Ham fans are banned from this house!" Theo shouts from across the room. Calum laughs loudly and Carl pretends to clear his throat and stand up to go.

"I'm only a West Ham fan around Jack's family." Lauren jokes. Like Jack, she was raised in a family of West Ham supporters.

"I'm forever blowing bubbles..." Carl chants, receiving an elbow in the gut from Alex as a result. Alex grabs Carl's arm and yanks him back into his seat and Carl makes a show of falling into him. Jack greets Lauren with a kiss on the lips to applause from some of the younger boys and Santi and Mikel. Kieran looks away awkwardly, trying to appear normal and not bothered. He accidentally meets Wojciech's eye and he smiles sympathetically at him. He swings his gaze to peer again into his glass and takes another swig of the monstrosity Alex mixed for him.

"You're late to supper." Kieran tells Lauren when Jack moves away and she leans over his chair again, pressing cold hands to his back.

"Of course I am so very sorry to have to miss all of this." Lauren replies sarcastically. "I've actually only come to kidnap your brother." 

"You've come for Jaydon?"

"Sorry bro, I just feel a little out of place." Kieran rubs his chin thoughtfully. He can imagine this particularly rowdy group of people making his quiet reserved brother uncomfortable. 

"Yeah, alright. I get it. Thanks for popping in then, and I really do appreciate all of the help from the past few days. Have a good night, yeah?" Jaydon runs a hand across Kieran's shoulder as he passes by. Lauren and him put arms around each other's waist as they start to gossip before they'd even exited the room. Jaydon is straight and has no problem spending the evening out with Lauren and her friends. Kieran rubs his hands together and stands up. Carl and Alex take the cue and start to tap their utensils on their plates to get the attention of the room.

"Hey everyone, on behalf of Jack who suffers from stage fright, I want to welcome everyone to this holiday party," Kieran begins, emitting a response of palms bang on the table in celebration, "and hope you have enjoyed yourselves so far. For those of you who are spending their first Christmas at Arsenal, I will warn you now that the rest of the night gets quite competitive." At this Olivier and Lukas laugh loudly and Theo jumps to his feet. "Last year Theo won every game we played at the club official party, and he will be looking to defend his title this year, I'm sure. We will be playing 5 games which I will explain now." Kieran motions to Calum, Stefan, and Ainsley, who go around the table handing out 3 jingle bells on a string to each person. "The first game is the pop word game. The 3 words are Snow, Wenger, and Aha, and they're written on the fridge to remind you. If you say these words and somebody catches you out, they get a bell from your neck. The person with the most bells at midnight wins." As soon as Lukas is handed his bells Per scoops one out of his hand. He hadn't been able to resist an Aha as soon as the word was announced. He laughs loudly and swallows another as Mikel and Santi pound the table and choke on their drinks.

"Secondly, at the request of someone who wishes to remain anonymous, we will be playing musical chairs." Kieran meets Mathieu Debuchy's eyes, who is staring incredulously between Olivier and Kieran. Olivier is smiling mischievously and they start to argue in French. In truth, Olivier had requested the game and the only explanation Kieran had gotten was that there are fond memories at the France NT with regards to this game. Judging by Laurent's blank look and Yaya's bug-eyed incredulity at the argument occurring beside him, that is not quite the full meaning. Kieran's pretty sure that's all he wanted to know of it.

"The next game has already begun. Before the party started one person has been dubbed the Christmas fairy. They will go around all night and mark people with fairy glitter. The goal is to figure out who it is before the night ends." Everyone looks around the table suspiciously, but no one had been marked yet that Kieran had noticed.

"HEY!" All of a sudden Alex jumps up as if his chair were on fire. On his side just below his armpit there is a sparkly fairy sticker.

"The Christmas fairy has already struck! So there you see what it will look like if you have been marked." Alex is gaping at Carl who is holding his arms out in a gesture protesting innocence.

"And then we have pin the red nose on Rudolph. Wojciech has generously provided the reindeer. If you don't know how to play, you will be blindfolded and you have to try to pin the red nose on Wojciech's reindeer jumper as accurately as possible. This will be the best chance to win as Theo very nearly lost last year to Alex Scott." Theo puffs out his chest and shakes his head. Kieran knew for a fact he had been practicing his blind accuracy, despite Kieran refusing to tell him whether they'd play it again.

"Lastly, just a simple guessing game. Guess how many baubles I've pinned to the tree out in the foyer. There are some bits of paper and pens out on the desk, put your name and guess on it and put it in the jar. We'll start with Musical Chairs after dessert." Kieran nodded to Jack and the pair, joined by Wojciech, went to the kitchen to clear the supper and replace it with dessert.

The table began to chatter in low murmurs as the games were clarified amongst each other and Mikel turned to explain it all to Alexis, as Theo rubbed his hands together in ravenous anticipation of a good old fashioned competition. Alexis figured it might be easy to pick out the buzz terms by virtue of only understanding those words in the clamor of a dozen conversations. Like hearing your name across the room, Alexis' ears will zero in on the sound of these words and pluck them out of the air, and a bell from someone's neck as a result.

But Alexis wasn't really interested in these games. He had a game of his own. From the pocket of his trousers he pulled a small plant wrapped in tissue. He placed it gingerly on the table and carefully unwrapped it, the stem between 2 fingers as he held it in front of his eyes and inhaled the heavy scent of it. The plant itself, he knew, had no discernible smell, but the shop must have thought it more romantic to imbibe this mysterious kissing tree with a strong mossy smell not unlike a cologne worn by men. He lowered it into his palm so that the he felt the soft, waxy exterior of the foggy white berries rest against his skin. He knew not the name of this plant in English but when he turned to the person next to him, Santi murmured the word in Spanish.

" Muérdago." he breathed almost reverently, before a broad grin spread across his face. Alexis smiled back at him, all mischievous glee.

"En Inglés." He demanded. 

"Mistletoe." Said Danny, a question in his eyes. "Mistletoe." Alexis tastes the word on his tongue. Then he smiles like a predator that has cornered it's pray; he has found the first competitor in his game.


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is coming a bit out of order. I've been stuck on the Alexis chapter for reasons, so I'm going to skip it for now because I have every intention of finishing this fic but I need to get going again. As such, the first few lines won't make sense to you for now, but suffice it to say that Olivier falls victim to Alexis' mistletoe game.
> 
> Hopefully new chapters will be inspired soon.

He hadn't planned to kiss Alexis as long as he did but the kiss was so pleasant and relaxing and harmless, but then he was being interrupted by Mathieu pulling hard at his sleeve. As usual, Olivier is not the perfect man.

"Mathieu, it was just a joke. It's mistletoe, I --" he begins in french but Mathieu has turned away from him, tugging him by his sleeve towards the door. Alexis grins apologetically at him and Olivier tries to put a look on his face that tells him it's not his fault. "If you'll just excuse us," he says pointlessly to Alexis as Mathieu drags him around the corner and into the cold air of the garage. Olivier skips a little as the chill of the hard cement assaults his socked feet.

Before Olivier can say more Mathieu is crowding him against a garage wall that is strewn with tools Jack has probably never used, the handle of a hammer rocking as he bumps it with his shoulder. Mat is staring fiercely into Olivier's eyes and he remembers that it this wild-eyed Mathieu that he loves the best, and not the quiet, measured one he had been admiring earlier. He wasn't hesitating any more as he takes fistfuls of Olivier's collar and pulls Olivier so their heads are level.

"Do you have to kiss pretty much everyone?" Mathieu asks, enough amusement in his tone that Olivier is almost overjoyed that they don't seem about to have their worst argument since January. Mathieu's breath is hot and fogging in Olivier's face, and tentatively he places his hands at Mat's sides, his body one of the only things providing heat in the frigid room. He realizes that it is very important for him not to be too forceful with him, as that is always where he has gone wrong in the past.

"I kiss everyone because I can't kiss the one I want." Olivier replies quietly. He relaxes his posture and tries not to pull Mathieu any closer, tries not to strain in the direction of the warmth. Mathieu's grip has loosened but he is still holding Olivier inches from his own face, breathing a bit heavily, balanced on the edge of control and what Olivier hopes he really wants. 

"Maybe I'd want to kiss you if this mouth didn't tell so many lies." 

"I'm done lying Mat. I'm so sorry, every day I am sorry, you know that I would do anything to --" He is cut off by their lips meeting, soft and quieting. Not tentative, but not asking for anything more. Olivier stays as still as he possibly can, he is careful not to make a sound to allow Mathieu to quietly step over the line, leaving behind what the past year has done to them and welcoming the beginning of something they can rebuild. His hands move to explore underneath Olivier's blazer and now Olivier is using every ounce of self control he possesses not to lean into him more, to pull him closer, to wrap his arms tight around him and feel his way up his back. He settles for moving his thumbs in slow circles across Mathieu's hipbones. Mathieu deepens the kiss, presses himself more insistently against Olivier and then he's rolling his hips in a way Olivier hasn't felt in years and Olivier can't help the small groan that sneaks into Mathieu's mouth against his own. Mathieu grins against him and separates them, still leaning heavily against Olivier so he can feel his heart beating hard and his blood pumping through his body to the most promising (and once familiar) places.

"How sorry?"

"Mmm?" Olivier is a bit dazed by the intensity of what had started out as such a chaste kiss. That it can offer nothing but suggest so much that Olivier has wanted so badly for so long. The intensity of the kiss was the smallest of reminders of everything he had missed, possibly because Mathieu had missed it as well.

"How sorry, Giroud? What are you willing to do?"

The words practically fell out of his mouth in his haste to get them out. "Anything Mathieu. Whatever it takes." It felt like he had been waiting for this opportunity all year. Months in the locker rooms with words spoken only through Laurent. He would have given anything in any of those moments for just a word.

"Then get on your knees." Mathieu said. Not shy, no waver in his voice, a challenge tilting his lips into a half smile. Something in his eyes that Olivier had never seen before. Or maybe had never been allowed to see.

He does what he's told immediately, turning their bodies to swap places so that Mathieu is against the wall. He doesn't even wince when he lands too hard on the cold floor pressing into his knee caps or the white salty lines he's sure will be on his trousers when he rises. The tip of his nose is pink from the cold and he stares hungrily up at Mathieu, who for the first time is hesitating, slowly undoing his own trousers with shaky, unsure hands. Olivier steadies him with one of his own, which he meant to be reassuring but is mostly just distracting because of the obvious bulge beneath their clasped hands. The next question seems pointless to Olivier because most of Mathieu seems to have decided what he wants.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" The question is made more pointless as he strokes at Mathieu through his pants. Olivier's heart is beating in his throat, he's pretty sure if Mathieu changes his mind now he'll pass out. He almost wants to laugh out loud because this is exactly why he loves Mat. Mathieu Debuchy will overthink a moment he has orchestrated all on his own, one that can just be pure need and dirty and meaningless. But to Mathieu it has to be the right decision. He's still stroking him and Mat leans back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, Olivier knows he's trying not to overthink the moment. He needs him to say yes, needs to taste him again, bring him over the edge the way only he knows how. "Debuch?" He presses the question as his hands find the button on his trousers. He tilts himself forward at the waist and lets his lips press against Mathieu and finally he reacts, pushing Olivier's head against him. Olivier tongues him through the fabric as shaking hands thread fingers through his hair.

"Yes, God yes." He finally responds. And Olivier has never been good at keeping silent so maybe a blow job was the best way to begin again, because he's hurriedly fumbling with Mathieu's zip as he mumbles nonsense.

"It's been so long, cheri, I want you so badly, every single way, every night, all I think of, just to taste you again, it feels so good to be here with you again mon amour, no one has ever compared --"

"Olivier." Mathieu interrupts, hoarse but also tender. "Please."

"Of course." Olivier slides his trousers and boxers down over his thighs and his hard cock is already leaking precome. At first Olivier fondles his balls with his hands and bites his lip to keep the words behind his tongue but Mathieu is pulling a bit roughly, almost desperately at his hair so he kisses the head of Mathieu's cock wetly and looks up at him. Mathieu is watching him with heavy lidded eyes, his mouth open as he pants low in his throat. He wonders if he's meant to say something now.

"I wish things were different, Olive." Mathieu says. "That things could have been okay sooner. But never mind all that now." The words tumble out of him between breaths and he doesn't seem focused on what he is saying. Olivier is not really sure what he means, so he focuses instead on slowly working his way down the shaft until it is lubricated enough that Mathieu can't stop himself from thrusting into Olivier's mouth. Eager, Olivier holds steady and feels Mathieu in the back of his throat. He moans and pushes further as Olivier's throat works around the head. He bobs his head a few times, trying to take him deeper, hands pressing thumbs into his fleshy thighs and then taking his balls in his hands again. They both freeze when they think they hear someone enter the mud room but they are entirely in the dark so Olivier doesn't pause for long, and he swirls his tongue so that Mathieu has to stifle a moan in case someone hears. Olivier can tell by his hips jerking that he's close.

"I'm so sorry, Mathieu." He can't help saying, but stops himself there. I'm sorry, I love you, I never meant to hurt you and I never want to hurt you again. Mathieu's only reaction is a groan as he wraps his hands around Olivier's face the better to fuck into his mouth.

"Nobody does this like you." Mathieu manages to say and Olivier would smile if he weren't busy. One hand is massaging Mathieu's balls and other is grabbing his ass as Olivier starts to feel desperate for the release that Mathieu is so close to. He considers undoing his own pants to stroke himself but then Mathieu starts to tense up and he comes hard into the back of Olivier's throat and he quickly tries to swallow it all down, the bitter taste of him more familiar than he ever thought it could be (it's come, how different can a person taste?) and he's too keyed up to want it to end now and he realizes he's scared of what happens when Debuchy comes back down.

Olivier's mind is jumping in random scribbles of emotions. Joy that he has been given a chance, hunger for Mathieu, fear that he is just a warm mouth. Every other time with Mat had taken months of friendly touches and quiet words, of pushing a little bit further a little further until finally Mathieu would break. But even then, there were so many times it became months of guilt, of avoidance, of resentment. He had not realized until this moment that this past year was just their relationship on repeat. That every single time they start the cycle he thinks it will be different. As Mathieu leans against the wall to find his breath, Olivier stays on his knees, hanging his head and bracing himself for the prospect of, well, nothing.

"Come to Paris with me." Mathieu says. Olivier doesn't even look up at this, has heard rash words from the mouths of people he pleased before. But never from Mathieu. How can something that was moments before such a high feel like a new low?

"Don't be ridiculous, Debuch, you know I cannot do that." Olivier rises to his feet and tries to brush off the lines of white dusting his knees. He grins sheepishly when they stubbornly refuse to clear. "And now I cannot return to the party, what will they think I have done, eh?" He looks at Mathieu to share the laugh, but Mathieu is still staring at him intensely.

"Olivier, I'm serious. Yohan has asked me to choose and I have. I love you both. Please. Come to Paris. We will make it work."

Olivier's smile falls from his face. He begins to shiver almost violently, or maybe he always was. Mathieu runs his hands up Olivier's arms, trying to warm him the way Olivier had earlier in the evening. "Olivier..." Olivier meets his gaze, feels boyish in the way he knows his eyes are pleading for anything but this moment. 

"You've never chosen me, Mat." Because maybe Olivier is not a perfect man. Maybe he's fallen short of the mark. But he was always, always, always there when Mathieu needed him. He was always waiting in the wings, ready to drop everything if it meant being what Mathieu needed. But it was never for more than a moment.

"I've never made a choice, Olive." Mathieu rests his palms on the small of his back so that Olivier leans in close to him. Olivier ducks his head so they are almost level and in the steady pace of their hearts and the determined look in Mathieu's eyes he feels for a second like it could work. He breathes it in but then shakes his head sadly. Mathieu doesn't accept this answer, he leans his head closer and when Olivier doesn't pull away he kisses him softly. Olivier knows he must still taste of Mat but Mat still works his tongue into Olivier's mouth to explore the taste of them both. Olivier is horrified that he might cry. He clutches Mathieu and kisses him back passionately, everything he ever wanted on his the tip of his tongue. Everything he ever wanted was always Mathieu.

"Come to Paris." Mathieu said, hands moving to Olivier's thighs. Again, he shook his head sadly.

"I don't know, Mat."

"I'm choosing you now, Oli. I've never made a choice before but now I have. I love you. I love Yohan. We all love each other. Please." He kisses Olivier again and despite having just came down the back of Olivier's throat he is pushing his hips up against him again, the kiss becoming wet and dirty and Olivier's still very much turned on body reacting to the feel, his brain frantic again and confused by the bombardment of emotion and sensation. 

"Mathieu..." He tries to say but Mathieu is sucking on his tongue. Olivier's hips buck automatically when Mathieu wraps a hand around his cock through his pants. He tries to pull Mathieu closer and is on the verge of forgetting all about this conversation when Mathieu breaks off the kiss and moves his head when Olivier leans in to kiss him again. He settles for kissing his neck instead.

"I love you. Say you'll come."

"I don't know, Mat." He says again, but he can't hide the brightness of excitement in his eyes, or deny that Mathieu knows how to get what he wants from him. His hand is finding a rhythm and though Olivier is thrusting into his hand for more friction, they both know he wants, needs so much more.

"I love you. Say you'll come." A hand sneaks past the waistband of his boxers and steals a moan from his lips when he feels skin on skin.

"Mat..." What was he saying again? What is he asking?

"Please Olivier, I need you to come. Say you'll come." His hand is slower now, tantalizingly slower now, and Olivier's mind is catching up with the question. Only he can't remember why he wasn't sure.

"Okay, I will come." He whispered into Mat's ear as he thrust up against him. What an inconvenient place to be.

"Then we must go now." Mathieu is saying, and shuffling sideways, grabbing Olivier by the arm to pull him out of the garage.

"Huh?" Olivier is confused and altogether quite flustered. He looks down at the tenting of his pants and back at Mathieu who is trying and failing to move Olivier from where he is standing.

"I've made arrangements, let's go, we need to pack bags for Paris. We will go tonight!"

"Tonight, Mathieu, I--what!?" Alarm. Alarm is what he is feeling now. Nonetheless, he takes a few tentative steps towards the garage door. "My wife is in Paris!"

That stops Mathieu cold. Olivier knows he has made a huge mistake, can't even figure out why he said it. Maybe he likes to mess things up without even intending to. He looks aghast at Mathieu, but after a second Mathieu just laughs.

"I need you to stop thinking, and just come."

Finally Olivier allows Mat to pull him towards the door to the mud room. He releases him and quickly scoops his shoes up in his hand. He finds his own jacket and tosses Olivier his. Suddenly feeling rushed, Olivier looks around frantically for his shoes.

"I can't find my shoes..."

"What?"

"My shoes, they are not here." 

Mathieu giggles. Olivier pauses to pull Mathieu into his arms and Mathieu giggles again. He buttons up Mathieu's coat then pulls him by his waist so they are hip to hip. They don't even care that just beyond the doorway the rest of the team still in the country for the days off were making rather a large racket.

"Just take any shoes." Mathieu murmurs. Olivier wasn't paying attention, his face was leaning closer and closer to Mathieu, he could almost taste his lips already.

"Mmm?" 

At the last second Mathieu sways forward and dropped a quick kiss on Olivier's lips and then turns towards the door. Olivier is again confused for a moment by the sudden movement.

"Take any shoes your size Olivier, we must go." Olivier blinks to focus again and smooths his hand through his hair as he scans the shoes for a reasonable size. As Mathieu takes his hand again he slips on a pair of dress shoes similar to his own that look to be his side and threads his fingers through Mat's as he pulls him out into the snow. In his other hand Mat has his phone to his ear to call a taxi. As they step into the snow Mathieu pulls their hands across Olivier's chest to stop them going forward. He gestures with their entwined hands towards a prone figure standing off to the side of the walkway. It is Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain and he is leaning against the side of Jack's house, looking all the worse for wear. At first they tiptoe across him and he doesn't seem to nice him but then Mathieu sighs and brings them both to a stop.

"Alex?" He asks in a tone meant to convey warmth and concern.

"Yes?" Alex replies without looking up at them.

"Are you alright?"  
"Why are you out here all alone?" Olivier asks, his tone less friendly than Mat's.

"I'm fine. Just waiting for Jenko, gone to start the car." He slurs his response. Mathieu nods and starts to walk forward again.

"Those are my shoes!" Olivier says, gesturing to the shoes on Alex's feet.

"Come on." Mathieu urges him.

"But he is wearing my shoes!"

"Olivier we don't have time for this just come." Olivier resigns to leave his beautiful shoes behind and picks his way through the snow towards the roadside. When they get to the roadside there is nothing to do but wait for the car.

Olivier still feels the heat of the moment earlier through his whole body. He pulls Mathieu close to him again and kisses him the way he'd always wanted to. The kiss deepens and they stay like this a while, Olivier maybe a little persistent in the slow movement of his hips against Mathieu, but spurred on by Mathieu holding steady against him, helping to create friction against his thigh.

"We couldn't have done all this someplace more private?" Olivier says, resting his forehead against Mathieu's and smiling weakly. Mathieu reaches down and grips the length of him through his pants.

"Hmmm...I bet I could get you off right here. Just like this." He murmurs as he starts to run the heel of his hand across the bulge in Olivier's pants. Olivier breaths into the motion for a few moments, can already feel the first prickles of orgasm through his body, but then he kisses Mathieu again and pulls away.

"I think not." He says as he straightens his jacket and stretches. He opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue to catch some snowflakes. He takes his coat off and spreads his arms, willing the small wet flakes to cool his feverish skin and mind. Mathieu watches him, a fond smile paints his expression something warm and forever. After a while Olivier feels calm enough to stand close to Mat again.

"Why have you changed your mind?" He asks, his lips tickling the shell of Mathieu's ear. Mat leans against him, his hands resting loosely against the waistline of Olivier's trousers. He pinches his hips between thumb and forefinger. Ghosts a kiss across Olivier's throat. Olivier tries to will his body not to react.

"I've never changed my mind about you, Olive. Never." A fierceness in his tone betrays their lazy movements.

"How can that be true?"

Mathieu doesn't answer for a few moments. He rests his head on Olivier's collar bone and they sway slightly where they stand.

"I know who you are Olivier. I know you. All of you. And although sometimes that means that you are not ready to be with me, I still love you. Always. I've always waited for the right time. For the wildness in you to calm down enough to realize that I was the right one for you all along."

"Ah, but I have always known this Mat!" Olivier explains loudly and indignantly, holding Mathieu at arm's length to check that his expression shows he is serious. "You have to know that since the day I met you I have always wanted you and only you. I've told you this." Olivier swallows, tries to take control of his emotions. Mat wraps his scarf around Olivier's neck and pulls him close again, tries to help still his mind.

"Yes, Olivier, but you haven't always been ready to act like it, you understand?" Olivier doesn't answer. He knows exactly what he means but isn't willing to admit it. They stand like this for some time, but then Mathieu leans in to kiss Olivier again. They embrace like this for a while. "But none of that matters now. I love you."

Olivier realized that all night over and over Mathieu had been giving him the words he had never given him before, ones he had always been so willing to offer to Mathieu himself. He realized that finally things had changed, that everything would be okay. Nothing in Olivier's life had ever been earned easily, but they always seemed to fall into place in this way.

"I love you too, Mat." Olivier tells him.

"I know." Mat replies fondly.

To mark the strong assertion Olivier already holds that things fall into place for him, the cab pulls up to the curb just then. As they are climbing in their phones both beep in unison. They both check Olivier's phone to find that Laurent has sent them a photo. At first Olivier thinks it is the one from earlier in the evening at his house, but it is one taken just outside the cab. Two figures embracing in the snow. Olivier brushes his thumb across the screen, traces the snowflakes cutting lines in the frame. Mathieu rests his head on Olivier's shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Canadian, we use the 12 days to count down to Christmas it's more fun that way.
> 
> In case you wanted details, in this verse Jack and Lauren are separated, they have joint custody of the kids but they are very close so sometimes they stay together with the kids at Jack's house and so on (this is how Delilah happened). They let the press think that they are together.


End file.
